


A Bird of His

by FireWolf1



Series: A Vision In Red [2]
Category: Alien vs Predator (2004), Aliens vs Predators Series - Various Authors
Genre: Alien/Human Relationships, Blood and Gore, Curiosity, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Love, Fluff and Smut, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, Jealousy, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Protectiveness, Slow Romance, Tragedy, phantom of the opera elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:29:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23844028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FireWolf1/pseuds/FireWolf1
Summary: Coated in curiosity for oomans, the yautja hunter spent a lot of time hunting them as well as observing them. He became exhilarated when hunting them. He became fascinated when he watched them. But he has never made relations with one, nor did he wish it.But when he comes across an opera singer who peaks his fascination, the yautja can't help but be tempted to interact with her.
Relationships: Yautja (Predator)/Original Female Character(s)
Series: A Vision In Red [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1717573
Comments: 31
Kudos: 75





	1. Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to A Vision In Red.
> 
> This is going to be edited since I'm not fully happy with it.

A cluster of cold air forms over the city; drops of rain fall from the hunter's dreads as he sat at the peak of the steeple. As still as stone, he remained seated alongside the gargoyles, whom he would now consider his friends after spending so long on this foreign planet. He didn't have a care for the rain at all, too focused on the new claimed skull in his clawed, scaled hand. So far, he had cleaned it with intense care, making sure to leave no crack or curve dirty. 

He lifted the skull into the rising moonlight, purring at the perfection of it as a crack of lightning and a clap of thunder loomed above. He slid it onto his belt, where the rest of his trophies sat. The hunter was fully armoured, a metal chest plate, gauntlets, knee guards and metal boots; underneath the thick armour was a thermal netting. Underneath his armour, the alien hunter was a light green brute, with lines of stripes diagonally crossing over his scales in wondrous patterns. He was rather bulky, tall and looked like he was nothing more than muscle. 

This yautja hunter, who took enjoyment from hunting oomans as well as observing them, was known as Gata.

A shout barked from the street below him and Gata rose to stand before he threw himself over the edge to land on the building on the side of the alley. He peered over the edge to see a ooman, dressed in black, yelling orders at a older ooman. With his bio-mask, Gata ran a scan over the two. The first thing he noticed was the weapon the younger ooman was holding and Gata immediately felt the need for a kill inside him, his heartbeat rapidly beating faster than usual. 

He scaled down the wall without effort and the man turned on his foot to look at him. Gata growled at his prey, the ooman far more uglier now that he was closer to his face. He lacked the blunt teeth oomans had, an unshaven hairy chin and a slight bit of redness in his eyes - sick and unhealthy. Gata could still kill him however, the ooman handled a gun. 

Far too terrified to fire a shot, the man instantly backed away just at the sight of the hulking frame of Gata. Without much effort, Gata took the front of the ooman's jacket into the palms of his hands, his claws ripped into the leather, and he threw him into the bins nearby. Gata moved past the elder ooman, who had froze with fright and shock, and lifted the ooman off his feet. Gata took the shuriken off his own belt, the sharp curves of it unlatched, waiting to drowned in blood. 

The ooman's mouth opened wide as a scream rose from his lungs. At the same time, thunder clapped and a lightning bolt crossed the sky as Gata efficiently decapitated the ooman without hesitation. Blood poured over Gata's arm and he let go off the ooman's lifeless body, watching as it fell to it's knees then the floor. The head rolled away.

Gata turned to the elderly ooman who had remained where he was. He quickly ran a scan on him with his bio-mask. Now he knew why the ooman hadn't ran, he was suffering from multiple disabilities - asthma, knee problems, heart problems, lack of hearing and blindness. Gata made his way to stand in front of the elderly man. He had never come across a blind ooman before, it was rather bizzare.

His eyes were rather clouded. Gata had never come across a blind yautja either, they were rare amongst their species. On the other hand, there were a good few blind oomans on Earth. Such a strange, fascinating species.

"Whoever is there, thank you for stopping that man. He would have robbed me for sure," the elderly ooman stated, lifting a hand to grasp the air. Gata watched for a few seconds, wondering what he was doing. Perhaps now was a good time to test his English, it's not like the ooman could see his monstrous height or build.

"You are safe now," he replied, rather rough for his liking but it seemed rather believable. He had hunted oomans for so long that Gata believed his ooman pronunciation was improving.

A smile appeared on the sad ooman's face, painted by the rain, before he stepped forward and placed a heavy hand on Gata's shoulder. Gata tensed immediately at the contact, feeling the warmth of the elderly man's hand. He rarely had let ooman's touch him before, the last one had been an ooman pup who had been rather curious of him. Gata had found that interaction rather endearing. That was a few years ago now.

The man responded, his smile still on his face, the wrinkles becoming more prominent, "You're a brave, young man. A tall one too"

Gata felt like he had to scoff at that but prevented himself from doing so. It was not hard to see their size difference, but in the old ooman's case that wasn't exactly possible. He watched as the ooman pointed at the building just by the alley, "I live there. I hope one day that you will visit so that I can repay you"

The ooman lifted his hand from his shoulder before hobbling out of the alley. Gata gazed at him, watching him go and disappearing around the corner. Gata doubted he would ever see that ooman again. 

The hunter removed his attention from the elderly ooman back to the dead one. He made his way over to the body and crouched over it. A puddle had began to spill, mixed from blood and the pouring rain. With a growl, Gata took the body as well as the head. The yautja did not find this opponent worthy at all, preying on a blind ooman was too low - plus he had been elderly too. He strung the body up deep in the alley by it's legs. He placed the head in a bin. 

Gata spent the rest of the evening looking for worthy opponents, though he found none. Bored of endlessly searching, Gata sat himself on a large building made of bright golden lights and large signs on the front. A group of oomans had gathered at the front of the building, chattering to themselves and the occasional laughter now and again. This is what made Gata come to Earth.

Gata was coloured green which perfectly fitted the jungle, however he enjoyed the ooman cities. He did not mind the city fumes, the gangs that would ruin his hunts every now and again or the constant noise of ooman vehicles below him. In fact, the smell was what Gata described as exotic, the gangs only served as more prey and the constant noise of vehicles only meant the movement of oomans below him. Gata would often spend a lot of time watching the oomans walk, talk and do their own thing in the streets below. They were a unique species that Gata enjoyed observing.

Even now, the gathering of oomans meant that Gata could look at their differences. Their hair was different, their bodies were different heights and shapes, their voices were even different. It astounded Gata. 

Something was happening now. They all began to rush inside the building as soon as the doors swung open, all in a hurry. Excitement and joy was evident in all of their faces. Gata found himself intrigued and he made his way across the roof to a skylight. He peered inside, seeing all the oomans seating themselves in rows and rows of endless seats. All their faces were full of light, dazzled by smiles. 

Gata wondered what could have caused such a big group of oomans to meet like this. Was this some sort of meeting? Some sort of ritual that he had never seen before? It would be something new.

After a few minutes, the crowd goes quiet and Gata watched as in front of them all the curtains to stage swung open and a line of ooman's dressed in funny blue coats and tight trousers began to dance. Then the oddest noise left their mouths. Gata suddenly realised they were singing. Was this considered entertainment?

When the oomans ended their singing, the audience applauded and a cheer could be heard from the crowd. Gata watched as the curtains swung closed, hiding the dancing blue men from the audience. After a few minutes, the curtains reopened and there was a line of women, dressed in short red dresses that hugged their figure. Each one of them had blonde hair making them hard to pinpoint individually. Like the men, they too began to dance and sing.

Gata sighed after some time, seeing the performances were no different from each other. They all were oomans, plain and boring. It did not entertain him like it seemed to do with the audience. 

He leaned away from the skylight to sit himself down and lean against the concrete. The rain patted lightly on his bio-mask and armour, his dreads gathered the moisture. The sound of the ooman's singing could be heard below and Gata found himself closing his eyes, drifting to sleep.

However, a silence struck the air and the singing was heard no more. The audience did not clap, nor did hear any ooman cheer. Gata's eyes fluttered open under the mask and his spiky eyebrows drew inward, confused at the silence. However, it did not make him curious enough to stand up and peer below him.

When a voice cut the silence, Gata felt his body become free from tension and a calmness swelled inside his chest. The sound was grace, music to his ears and no doubt it came from her heart, her spirit and soul. It was a sound that Gata wished would never stop. It drew Gata to his feet and he found himself gazing down into the building below. 

It was a female ooman. Gata wasn't exactly knowledgeable when it came to ooman religions but he had seen their beliefs of angels and their appearances. This ooman could perfectly be described as that. She wore a long, flowing gown that was coloured in a pure white. It hung over her shoulders to show her prominent collarbone, the top her breasts and the soft smoothness of her neck as she sung. Her dark brown hair was braided with flowery, white accessories clipped into her hair. It was drawn back to reveal her face. She was pale, soft-looking and rather beautiful. She did not overflow with makeup, instead she was rather simple-looking. And yet that was what made her seem beautiful. Gata found his gaze not leaving her in the slightest, locked on her intensely. His ears were also keen to listen to her song too.

Gata kept his stare locked on her. She was the brightest thing in that room and rightly so she deserved it, her voice was astonishing and fascinating. Even the audience had been reduced to nothing more but silence, which quickly broke to the loudest applause.

And as quickly as she came, she left. Her voice was no more and the curtains fell to hide her angelic glow. Gata stood up straight, eyeing the curtains as if she'd reappear and take the spotlight once again. The female ooman did not return.

His gaze moved to the audience who had begun to rise from their seats and leave the building. Was that it? Would she not return? His gaze went back to the stage, sheltered in nothing but darkness. The light from her dress was no longer there, instead it was shrouded in darkness as if she never had stood there. Where had she gone? 

Gata lifted himself from leaning on the skylight as he heard commotion at the front of the building. He marched over to the front to see the crowd of oomans leaving the building. His eyes scanned the oomans, looking for that one female in particular. Gata looked over each female who resembled her in the slightest, dark brown hair and pale, but he could not see her. He found himself panicking as fewer and fewer oomans came out. Where was she?

When no more oomans came through the doors, Gata growled lowly with aggravation. His hands curled into fists as he gripped the concrete roof. He would find her and hear that voice again. How could an ooman make a sound as beautiful as she had done?

*

A beautiful lady dressed in a gown fit for a princess leaned against the chair, gripping it with surprising strength, as an elderly woman began to undo the back straps to the dress. Unlike her benevolent face onstage, the young girl's face was contorted with discomfort and flinched every now and again as the woman tugged at the straps.

"You were very good, Ingrid," the elderly lady praised, tugging once again at the straps to undo them. The girl, known as Ingrid Swan, winced at the feeling of the yanking. The lady continued, "You sung and looked like an angel"

"Thank you, Margaret," Ingrid replied, a blush rose on her cheeks as she accepted the praise. She sighed, "It's only for tonight though. I'm only sad that Penelope wasn't here to perform. It is her show after all"

The dress' back straps were now free and the dress sagged only slightly, revealing more of her arm and Ingrid brought her hands to the front of her dress to prevent it from falling to her feet. Margaret had begun to undo her brain, removing the white flower pins from her hair and let her hair down. 

"It was still a marvellous sight to see"

Her blush deepened and Ingrid nearly forgot to thank and wished goodbye to Margaret who left the room. She let go off the dress which sank to her feet and Ingrid placed it on the chair. She wasn't exactly sure where to put it as she had never worn something quite as beautiful so Ingrid guessed that someone would retrieve it.

Ingrid then dressed into her regular clothes - jeans, a normal white top and a long, woollen jacket. She sighed as she did the buttons up and grabbed her bag. Ready to leave, she said goodbye to her co-workers for the day and headed for the back exit. Most people who appeared on the stage would use the back exit to reduce any attention they may receive if they went through the front.

As her hand curled around the door handle, a voice startled her and Ingrid brought a hand to her chest - instantly a nervous smile rose to her lips. Her eyes locked with the manager and she wondered what else he would need from her. It was he who had requested she appear onstage after her audition. He spoke to her casually, "Your performance was lovely, Ingrid"

"Thank you," Ingrid said with a smile and tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear.

"Sadly, I'm afraid you won't be able to perform that role again. You'll have to return back to where you originally were," he explained, giving a sad smile of pity to her. Whilst Ingrid enjoyed being the star of the show tonight, she knew that it was for the better. She wasn't the type of girl to stay on the stage for too long.

"It's fine, there's nothing to be sad about," Ingrid responded, her hands lifted to stop him from apologising any further. He sighed before wishing her goodnight and disappeared down the hallway. Ingrid sighed, her hand went back to the door handle to open the door.

The cool air immediately collided into Ingrid and she instantly shivered as she wrapped her arms around herself. Ingrid frowned, wishing she had brought an umbrella and voiced her complaints, "I wish I had brought an umbrella"

She lifted her hand to hold above her head, although it did nothing as her hair became soaked from the rain and Ingrid dropped her hand with a heavy sigh. It had been raining all day, it wasn't like it was going to stop anytime soon. Ingrid turned to start heading out the alleyway, the coat did nothing to protect her from the cold wind and rain.

But it did not stop her from hearing the world around her. Ingrid spun on her heel when she heard the clatter of a bin lid fall to the ground. Her heartbeat rose rapidly, panic coiled around her brain and adrenaline fuelled her lungs. She felt her legs got tense, ready to sprint if she need be. However with the heels she was wearing, Ingrid doubted she would get far if she were to be attacked.

Ingrid remained where she was, squinting into the darkness, wondering if there was someone lurking in the darkness and shadows. When a cat bounced out of the black, Ingrid jumped and a sigh of relief left her lips. A soft, shaky laugh emerged from her as she crouched down to stroke the cat on the head. She cooed gently, "You should get somewhere dry"

The cat purred at her and Ingrid smiled softly before spinning on her heels and headed to the main street.

*

Gata remained crouched behind the metal bin. He may have had his camouflage gear activated, however he did not trust it completely. Oomans could still see the shimmer of it at some points and it had nearly costed him his life multiple times. 

He heard her fading footsteps and he peeked around the cover to see her figure becoming smaller and smaller as she walked further away. Gata stood up, watching as she removed himself from his view by going around the corner. He wanted to chase her, see where she went and see where she lived. However, it would be better if he did not waste his time. Tonight may have only been a one time thing, her voice could have just been working amazingly well tonight.

It would be better to see her perform before he decided she was worth the time at all.

But when she had turned when he had purposefully knocked the bin, it was a sight to see. Gata found her astonishingly beautiful. She wasn't what oomans would consider a model: she didn't have the tall slender figure or the prominent, angled face. She was soft and carved by clouds. Gata only wished he had been close enough to see the colour of her innocent eyes. 

The cat who had pestered her now took his turn with him. Gata growled at it as it came closer to him, but found himself lifting his clawed hand like she had. He brought his hand upon it's head and felt it's fur silk it's way through his scaled fingers much like what had happened to her.

He would see her again.


	2. Hello

It was far too early for the sun to start rising but Gata was aware that his time in the shadows was running out. He would need to strike soon or else he may lose his chance for a trophy today. For the past few days, Gata had been tracking a gang of oomans who were rather ruthless and merciless. It was only the other day two members of the gang had dealt with substances, substances that were considered rather unethical with human customs. 

Below him were the elite members of this gang, a small set ready for the taking and to be part of his trophies.

As if he was in his natural environment, Gata lurked above the gang members on the metal beams of the warehouse. His movements were agile and experienced as Gata skulked across the beam to analyse the oomans. He'd already used his bio-mask to scan them; from what Gata could see all of them were armed except for one. The one ooman that wasn't armed was currently tied up in a chair, gagged and blindfolded. A desk sat between him and the rest, none took their eyes off of him. 

Gata watched curiously as a skinny ooman, coated with tattoos along his arms, chest and neck, punched the bounded ooman male. From his bio-mask diagnostics, Gata could see that the tied up ooman had suffered multiple injuries beforehand - fractures to the skull, broken fingers, broken nose, his eye would be incapable of sight without proper medical care and his body was covered with bruises that painted him black and purple. 

The skinny male barked madly at him, leaning forward to get closer to the ooman, "I fuckin' told you to keep your gang dogs out of my way," he spat in his face, hateful and angry, "but you kept getting in my way, time after time after time"

Gata had ran into many ooman gangs such as this. They were no different from each other. They had their own rules, their own way and thought they were bigger than the gang next door. But it didn't change much, they were all the same. Each one complained about another. They raided, raped, tortured, drugged and murdered whenever, whoever, wherever they wanted. The group that considered themselves the security force of the city, called "police" or otherwise known as "flics" in this country, were incapable of handling gangs of such extreme violence who got what they wanted.

Gata, however, had managed to eliminate five in the past couple of months he had stayed in this city. They weren't the only trophies he had collected either: police, muggers or anyone who was armed and considered worthy. The tattooed ooman ripped the gag off the bound male.

"I swear I told them. I did - I swear"

"I'm sure you did," the ooman said, standing up straight as he scratched his head. Gata observed as he nodded at the other oomans and then turned back to the bounded one, "I'll give you another chance. Warn your buddies and you won't go through this again. If you don't, you'll have more than broken fingers"

Whilst Gata may view oomans as prey, he was also fully aware of their capabilities with their own tools and weapons. They also proved to be tricky and unpredictable when in large groups. However, without them they were useless, primitive and fodder. Gata recalled multiple yautja hunters who had gotten cocky during a hunt. A yautja male in the city, known as Los Angeles, had ended with a dismembered arm and a brutal death, being sliced alive by his own weapon. Gata respected oomans enough to be wary of what they were capable of.

Right now, Gata was not extremely worried. In fact, he was well aware he had the upper hand. They would not be expecting to be hunted in their own home.

With his plasmacaster that was currently mounted on his shoulder, Gata began to charge it and aim it to the head of the ooman between the seven. Before any of them knew it, Gata had blasted the ooman's head to flakes, blood splattering across the floor, table and the bounded ooman. 

Gasps and shock rippled through the oomans and they immediately lifted their guns to look around them. The bounded ooman in the chair wriggled to get free as they all stuttered and stammered to one another.

"What the fuck was that?"

"I didn't see who shot him"

Gata moved over to the horizontal beam and slid down it quietly, landing with the elegance of a jaguar. He took the shuriken that sat on his hip and the ends of it unlatched. Gata considered himself to be a master of this weapon and without effort, he threw the shuriken with ease. It sliced through two of the standing oomans, slitting them into two and their organs spilled into puddles beneath them. 

A scream of terror ripped out of one of the oomans and Gata raised his netgun to fire as the largest one made a run for the door. The netgun instantly trapped the ooman against the door, instantly ripped into the flesh and leaving marks beyond repair. They would die a slow death. 

The last ooman remained and the one that had been interrogating. Gata guessed he was the leader from the way he acted and carried himself. Gata's camouflage rippled with blue electricity as he stepped into the light, revealing himself. The ooman's eyes widened with shock and fear as he threw his gun down. He raised his hands and stammered, "I surrender man! I'll give you anything"

Gata was no fool. He had seen the other weapons that the ooman had, hidden underneath his clothes. He would not fall for his tricks. He unsheathed his wrist blades as he drew closer. Without hesitation, he stabbed the ooman and lifted him off his feet, watching with interest as blood slipped from the ooman's slips and he began to cough up blood.

The yautja hunter observed as the ooman died before dropped his arm to let the body fall to the floor. He glanced to the bound ooman who still struggled and fought against the rope wrapped around him. His gaze then flickered over to the ooman trapped in the net against the door. 

Gata marched with superiority as he went over to the ooman. The ooman cried, sobbed and begged for his life. With little effort, he sunk his hand deep into the back of the ooman to grip the spine and rip it out along with the skull. 

Rolling his shoulders, Gata looked back to the ooman on the chair. He strode over and took the blindfold off him. The eyes of the ooman went wide like any prey would, like the ooman before. It didn't take long for Gata to notice that the ooman had urinated out of fear. Gata used his audio then, "I'll give you another chance. Warn your buddies and you won't go through this again. If you don't, you'll have more than broken fingers"

It was obviously a recording of the audio but the ooman got the message as he nodded without stopping. Gata wondered if he would snap his own neck doing that if he did it long enough. 

Gata spent an hour skinning the bodies and hanging them up across the warehouse beams. He took the skull of the leader, even though he considered them all unworthy. The leader had not even put up a fight, but if he held that status then maybe it was worth it.

As he sat on the steeple, Gata thoroughly cleaned the skull with such gentleness that it may as well have been a pup. It was coming to seven in the morning now and the yautja lifted his head to gaze at the rising sun that started to appear behind the tall buildings of the city. It was a beautiful sight, he would admit. It made the city awfully brighter than it deserved to be, than what the oomans that lived in it deserved.

But, there was still one. The female ooman that had caught his attention with her simple beauty and graceful song that she created with her own voice. He had to see her - hear her again.

Activating his camouflage, Gata climbed down past the gargoyles; slid down the tiles off the roof and with full confidence, he leapt off the cathedral. He glanced over his shoulder to look at the building that sheltered him from the sun with it's height and magnificence. He turned away and began to make his way to the opera house.

It did not take long for Gata to make his way to the roof of the opera house. As soon as he got there, he peered into the skylight to see black and darkness inside. He leaned away, rather disappointed. Oomans did not wake so early. He wondered if these shows only took place in the dark of the night. He would be waiting a while.

He strode over to the edge of the roof where the back exit was and stared down. There were no oomans, no sign of activity at all. Until the cat from the night before made it's way out from between the bins. It remained crouched, close to the floor, and began to crawl across the alleyway floor. Gata watched with interest as the cat made it's way closer to a pigeon that sat not too far away, naive to the cat's slow approach. Gata sat himself down, swinging his legs over the edge to get comfortable as he observed the encounter.

In a split second, the cat pounced and it's claws latched on to the pigeon. With a swift bite, the pigeon was dead. The cat then dragged it off behind the bins.

Gata had seen many predators but it was awfully strange to see something so small use such agility and swiftness to kill their prey. It was only yesterday that the cat had approached him for some affection. It was probably best for Gata to expect the unexpected on this planet. But in the end, it was rather fascinating.

The yautja's attention changed in a flash as the ooman female from the night before came around the corner. Gata immediately sat up straight to watch as she came closer through the alleyway. Her hair was still the same bundles of brown locks that flowed effortlessly over her shoulders and down her back. In the light, it was a beautiful colour that glowed just as much as her face did. Her face was pale, but not so much that it could be considered ghostly. Instead, it was rather angelic and yet, simple. 

Her clothes were also rather plain too. She wore the same long coat as she had worn the other night along with a red scar. The coat was coloured a lighter brown, less authentic than the colour of her hair. From the knees down, he could see the blue denim trousers which oomans called 'jeans' which were followed by small brown boots. 

But as she came round the corner, she paused and looked over her shoulder. However, it seemed as if it had never happened as she continued down the alleyway.

As she reached for the door, Gata watched the simple movement of tucking a loose dark strand of her hair behind her cheek. It made him notice the soft curve of her cheek and the long eyelashes that graced her eyes. Yet at this angle, Gata could not see what colour they were.

She went inside the building and with a huff, Gata dropped to the floor silently. He leaned forward to the door and did not hear the click of a lock so he took the handle in his hand and opened the door.

When the yautja slipped inside, he did not see the female. But he could smell her. Gata sniffed the air, ignoring the other smells that filled the hallway, and immediately began to make his move through the back of the opera house. 

Oomans never had a pleasant smell. They smelt of sweat naturally, as did she. But it was not unpleasant. Gata smelt a small draft of something delicious, sweet and soft. It was something that Gata could not describe but it could easily label it as inviting. 

With the trail of her smell, Gata warily followed the scent. This was a place he did not know, he hadn't had time to observe each crack of the opera house. 

The trail ended at what seemed to be a changing room. As he opened the door and peeked inside, Gata did not see the ooman but her scent was practically clogging his nostrils at this point so Gata made his way around the lockers. As he turned the corner, he caught sight of her removing her coat and scarf. 

Gata immediately thrusted himself back, not having full trust in his cloak. However, as he did, Gata ended up knocking over the bin that sat beside him. It fell with a clatter and rolled loudly along the tile floor.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

*

Parting the shadows, the rising sunbeams lifted to brighten the bedroom with light and mild warmth. Even before dawn, the room had been warm, leaving a thick atmosphere in the room, hard for the girl to breath.

At the feel of the rays of light, a sigh of relief left her silently as she lay on the bed. Her eyes opened, blinking rapidly at the light; then bringing a hand to her head, feeling the sweat that trickled on her forehead.

Ingrid yawned, lifting herself off the bed with a large amount of effort. She wanted to get to the opera house early today. She wanted to embrace the silence before everyone else came.

The girl leaned over to grab the alarm clock that sat on the bedside table. It was only 6:15am. She stretched and made her way to the flat's kitchen. It did not take long for her to make her cereal. As she ate her cereal, Ingrid began to read the letters that had come through the post.

The first was from her manager. It was only to thank her for her performance the other night. Ingrid would need to remind herself to write one back. The second was from Megan, daughter of Margaret, and Ingrid's best friend. It was an apology for being unable to see her performance. From what Ingrid knew Megan's husband was a police officer and he had been terribly busy as was Megan.

The last letter surprised Ingrid. It was from someone that Ingrid had not expected. Her childhood friend, Richard, who she had not spoke to in a long time. 

'I was one of the lucky few who was able to witness you onstage last night, Ingrid. It would be amazing to talk to you once again. After the show tonight, I will be waiting outside the front of the opera house. I hope to see you there'

Ingrid sighed, rubbing her eyes. Though she could feel the pounding of her heart, it was exciting to know that she would see her childhood friend once again. She quickly washed her bowl and dressed herself.

Ingrid was extremely thankful that she did not live too far from the opera house which meant she would be able to walk there. She could not afford a car, nor could she waste money on a taxi. She was not a lead singer which meant she was not paid very well. Ingrid had to watch what she spent her money on carefully.

On the way to the opera house, Ingrid came across Old Joe, who some may call 'Blind Joe' though Ingrid could never bring herself to say that. He was facing a box of flowers which was part of the market that Ingrid passed everyday on the way to the opera house. As she walked over to him, Ingrid noticed the way he ran the palm of his old, wrinkled hand brushed along the petals of the flowers. She was rather surprised when Joe turned to her, a pleasant smile on his face, and greeted her, "Ingrid, always early as usual"

"You know what they say. The early bird gets the worm," Ingrid responded happily, smiling at the old man as he lifted his hand to fully turn to her.

"You might want to watch yourself though, Ingrid. Especially early in the morning or late at night, " Joe replied and Ingrid felt herself frown as his eyebrows drew together seriously. It was never often Joe got serious. In fact, he was a rather jolly man who enjoyed keeping everyone's spirits up.

"Why? Has something happened?"

"There have been murders lately in the city. The police aren't sure what it is but from what I hear, it's a critical investigation. They're not sure if it's one person or a gang - it usually is nowadays," he explained and brought his hand up to pat her gently on the shoulder. 

"If people are being killed, then shouldn't a warning go out to the people?" Ingrid questioned, glancing behind Joe to the young couple who seemed to be having a lovely time together looking at the flowers. A sweet laugh emerged from the lady as the young man passed her a rose.

"The police have tried to keep it covered. Not sure why. Word will get out eventually though and there's no telling how people will react to it," Joe said, turning back to the flowers, "It was only yesterday that I was getting robbed near the cathedral. But you know what happened? I prayed and I was saved. Obviously, I couldn't see the lad but I reckon it was an angel or a guardian of some sort. You know what he said? "You're safe now""

Ingrid wouldn't have believed him if he had been anyone else but Joe wasn't a liar. She let out a breath, why would anyone want to rob him? He was only an old man. He did not have money and from his slouched, elderly posture, it must have been obvious that he wouldn't be able to fight back. Maybe that was why he was picked. 

Whilst tales of guardians and angels were only in her childhood dreams, her heart skipped knowing that someone had the kindness and chivalry to step in to save Joe was admirable. 

"That guardian of yours sounds like someone I would like to meet," Ingrid said, a soft smile graced her face as she thought of it. 

Naturally, Joe changed the topic as he lifted his hand to caress the petals of the flowers once more, "Since I don't have sight, Ingrid, I have to rely on my sense of smell to tell which flower is which. Well - touch has something to do with it too but I find it better to smell them. You were a florist before you joined the opera house, weren't you?"

It was not often people brought up her florist past. Ingrid felt like people avoided talking about it as it was often seen as a job she had that was less valuable than her current one. Plus, it had been the job she had when her mother was alive. Ingrid replied with a friendly "mhm".

"I have to rely on my sense of smell most of the time, Ingrid. It's made it easier to tell who is who just from their smell. I can always tell who you are, maybe it has something to do with you previously being a florist"

"Well - at least my past job was good for something," Ingrid responded with a short laugh. Joe smiled at her, though Ingrid had a feeling that it was out of pity. It did not bother however, she would remain as upbeat as she could be. Ingrid said her goodbyes to Joe but before she could leave the market, the flowers that the couple had been looking at before caught her eye.

The roses, coloured all shades of red, grasped her attention like it was the only star in the sky. She had always wanted to grow roses of her own but they were far too delicate and demanding for Ingrid's flat. Maybe one day she would be able to grow some.

Ingrid continued on her way to the opera house and as she turned the corner to go through the alleyway, a warmth bloomed in her chest and she paused for a moment. Ingrid had spent a lot of time on the stage so when she was being watched, she knew she was being watched. Ingrid glanced over her shoulder and saw nothing; nothing was down the other way either. 

She made her way to the door, grasped the handle and stepped inside. The first thing the girl did was head to the changing room but as Ingrid took off her scarf and coat the sound of a clang and the rolling of metal made her freeze. Her heart raced as she wondered who or what could possibly be in here.

The reminder of Joe's warning made her worried.

"Hello? Is someone there?"

No answer, which was to be expected, but Ingrid was curious enough to go see what had happened. She moved around the lockers to investigate the noise and saw the bin rolling on the floor. She looked around the changing rooms to see nothing, no noise and no signs that someone had been in here. Ingrid then looked outside of the room to see nothing. 

With a sigh, Ingrid brought a hand to her head. She then lifted the bin to where it had been originally and cleaned all the rubbish that had fallen out. Once she had done that, Ingrid made her way to the stage. With a flick of the switch, the stage lights flickered on and lit up the stage.

Ingrid made her way up the wooden steps to the stage, staring out to the empty seats and placed herself in the spot she had been in the night before. The audience in their seats, her co-workers watching her with awe and the spotlight highlighting her dream.

She closed her eyes, remembering last night and the adrenaline that had filled her in that once in a lifetime moment.

*

Gata remained perched on the balcony, staring at the ooman girl who stood in the middle of the stage. He was on the closest balcony on her right, the best view from the audience. He lifted his head to look at the skylight that stood just behind the giant chandelier. The opera house itself was massive but inside it was magnificent and utterly beautiful.

In the pillars were carved arts of some kind that Gata had never seen before. On the walls was wallpaper that were a vibrant copper colour and the seats were soft, comfortable with a deep red. But most of all, the stage was the ultimate highlight. Gata could only imagine what it would be like to watch the show inside.

He observed curiously as the girl closed her eyes, breathed in and lifted her hand as she grasped the air. What was she doing? Would she sing now? A lonesome song that was made only for her ears but he, who remained in the open but in the dark, was going to be the one to witness it. He leaned forward, eager and longing to hear it all.

But Gata leaned far too much as he lost footing and tilted forward. Before he knew it, Gata was falling from the balcony. He slammed against the wall of the balcony and fell face first into the seats below. They managed to cushion his fall, not that he needed them, but at least he landed comfortably. 

"Oh god!" he heard the girl yell with fright. She must have heard the fall. But when he heard her footsteps closing in on him and the touch of gentle, smooth hands grasping his forearms, Gata knew she could see him. He glanced down to his hands to see that his cloak had switched off. Had it been deactivated in his fall?

He felt the small, slim fingers tensing up as she helped, again - not that he needed it, to his feet. She talked, but he couldn't hear her. He was far too mesmerised by the gentleness and delicacy of her hands that gripped his forearms. Gata tilted his head as he stood up straight to look down at her.

Blue. Her eyes were a sparkling, deep blue that grasped his attention. It was no sky blue or the same colour as her light blue jeans. It was a deep, dark blue that reminded him of the depths of an ocean - mysterious and full of adventure. But when he looked closely, Gata found himself not finding her eye colour spectacular of all things. He wanted to know what created the innocence and utter kindness in her eyes that so easily reflected moons. He saw no fear.

She moved closer, pressing a hand to his upper arm, just below the shoulder pad, running it over his skin as if she was rubbing some sort of cream over him. His heart hammered wildly, his temperature rose and his mandibles spread out slightly at the sight of her so close. His eyes flickered down to her lips, full and what humans would describe as kissable. They moved with elegance and Gata had to mentally hit himself to listen to her, "Are you alright? I really hope you haven't bumped your head, sir. I'm not exactly a medic"

Gata could not speak. His throat was too tight and words felt clogged in his mouth. 

The female ooman lifted a hand to reach for his face and he immediately backed off, growling lowly. He would not have her reaching anywhere near his dreads. They were considered one of the most sensitive parts of his body and there was no telling what she intended to do if she took hold of one. 

She flinched back; a shimmer of fear rippled in her blue eyes. But he saw it, curiosity. She was just as curious as he was.

*

Ingrid watched the man (or woman) stand there between the row of seats. They were tall, very tall, and built like a bull. She could barely tell what they looked like as the only lights that were on were the stage lights which shone only one side of them. She saw the mask, the armour and the belt. The rest was but a frame that could barely be seen.

Ingrid guessed he was a man but she may be wrong. She really hoped she hadn't offended him.

Who was he? She had never seen anyone like this before. Ingrid stepped closer and stopped in her tracks as he took another step away from her. He had growled at her before. People made all sorts of noises but hearing a growl from someone was different. It did not make her scared though.

"Are you sure you didn't bump your head, mister?" Ingrid said, bringing a fist to lightly tap against her own. Maybe he had knocked his head and had lost his speech? That would explain the growling.

How had he gotten in here? And what had he been doing up in the balcony? A customer had never been locked in before. She hoped he hadn't been locked in. She eyed him, noticing the way his arms had tensed with sheer muscle and the clenching of his fists. Ingrid asked him politely, "How did you manage to get in? Did you get locked in?"

He didn't answer.

Ingrid glanced over her shoulder to the general direction where the back exit was. Had he come through the back exit? She hadn't locked the door because of her co-workers arriving. When she went to look back at him, he was no longer there. Ingrid spun on her heel, trying to spot where he had vanished to but she could see no sign or trace of where he had gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've added how many chapters there will be. This may change. Sorry for the late update, I've been planning each chapter for both this fic and the other one. This might be edited. Sorry if the gang talk is cringey, I have no clue how gangs talk. And sorry if their first meeting is cringey because this isn't how I'd imagine yautja to usually act. Gata is just being Gata lol
> 
> Enjoy! Comments are appreciated <3


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